A Tenured Carol
by Coach Zed
Summary: High school math teacher Alfred has had the hots for the school librarian since the beginning of the school year. But when they're snowed in together over Christmas break with their fellow coworkers, will they fall in love or lose their underpaid sanity? Lighthearted holiday AmeCan.


**AN: This is a Christmas present to a friend. Alternate character interpretations and all that (I really like the idea of Ivan being a sci-fi nerd. Sorry, man. And of Mattie being caustic as fuck). Anyway, the rating will likely be pushed up later on. This is a pretty cliché plot, I'll be the first to admit it. Also, despite the implications of the title, this is not a parody of A Christmas Carol. I just couldn't think of a title. Sorry.**

Alfred had watched the first 45 minutes of _It's a Wonderful Life_ a grand total of five times that day. It was lucky that he'd seen the movie several times before, for he could tell that in this new career he'd be watching plenty of beginnings to films, with no climax or denouement.

But watching a film on the last day before break—beginning only not withstanding—seemed more engaging than drilling the class on the quadratic formula or Pythagorean theory. It was hard enough to make math fun for students (whether pre-algebra or Advanced Trig) without totally grinching Christmas. Besides, Alfred sure as heck didn't want to grade papers over break!

He shut off the movie, turning on the lights and drawing various groans from the groggy-eyed students. More than three jolted awake, having drifted off during the film. While it was one of Alfred's favorite movies (most of his non-comic book movie favorites were holiday films), Alfred couldn't get mad at them. It was the last class before break. And he'd been one of those students who slept in class back when he was in school.

"Alright guys, make sure you take all your books and school-unauthorized electronics with you before you leave." The class snickered a little as they began to collect their things. "I expect a 15 page essay on pi first thing when you get back—haha, just kidding, just kidding!" Just like that, the laughter turned to exaggerated groans. Alfred smiled even more at the response.

"Man, Mr. J, you are so cheesy." The student's voice was mirthful. Alfred's grin broadened.

"Fair enough. Okay, guys, if you can all be quiet, I think I'll let you out early." Funny how excited students got from those simple words. He walked over to the door, stopping the students before they left to give them each an envelope. It wasn't much—he couldn't exactly buy every student a gift, not when he had over 150 this semester in total. Still, even if it was "cheesy", as his students were fond of saying, he had to get them something, even if it was just a card and a pencil (he'd given them all candy canes at the beginning of class—what? They needed something to eat while they watched the movie!).

All but one student dashed out, envelopes in hand. Alfred started back towards his desk, pausing at the sight of one lone female lingering near the white board. "Bridget, what's up? Did you forget something?"

The sophomore seemed to have a near-permanent shade of red on her cheeks. Alfred hoped she wasn't catching a cold, the poor thing. The petite brunette shifted on her feet.

"Um, I just, um," She bit her bottom lip, her braces catching the fluorescent lighting.

Alfred began to grow concerned. Maybe she was in trouble. Maybe she was sick! Or abused or neglected or having 'gang problems'!z She was always so quiet in his classes. Why hadn't he noticed anything off before?!

"Bridget, what's wrong?" He sat on the edge of his desk, looking at her in what he hoped was an open, trustworthy expression. For some reason, it only made her grow redder. "You can tell me anything."

"I just saw this and th-thought it'd match your room, that's all. Merry Christmas!" She shoved the meticulously wrapped bundle into Alfred's hands. Before he could react, she'd already fled.

Alfred glanced down at the festive wrapping. Okay, it was the wrong festivities. It looked as though it was Valentine's Day wrapping paper. He hadn't even realized they made paper with so many hearts. Her household must have run out of Christmas wrapping paper, or perhaps she didn't celebrate Christmas. He smiled to himself as he neatly pulled the tape away (ordinarily he might have ripped the paper frantically, but this was a gift from one of his students! He needed to take extra care in that case, even if said student had already left).

It was fitting, he thought with a little laugh of delight, that he'd given out pencils to his students, since he received a pencil sharpener. And a Superman one at that! Given the various superhero posters and memorabilia lining his walls and his desk top, he could see why she thought it would fit.

He set it on the desk, beaming. It made him immensely happy—not that he'd gotten a gift (or seven students gifts, as had been the case this year)—but that so many of his students were filled with Christmas spirit (it didn't occur to him to question why it was his female students who seemed extra 'spirited'). And it made him feel proud, to have done his little part to spread cheer and goodwill as well. Sure, candy canes and movies and cheap cards weren't much.

But it beat the five paragraph in-class essays he knew Mr. Kirkland was assigning. Heck, he'd been assigning that way back when Alfred was a student, all those five years ago.

The bell rang as Alfred checked his staff email, laughing heartily at the emails of kittens the secretary sent en-mass, and doublechecking the time for the night's faculty party. He didn't bother glancing up when the door opened, only turning when Ivan leaned against the white board.

"I heard you play movie from next door. "It's a Wonderful Life"—is classic. How many fell asleep this hour?" Dr. Braginski's voice was warm and booming. Alfred could scarcely believe he'd once been intimidated by the man whose every outfit was frayed at the edges from the Bunsen burners.

"Three or four," Alfred said jovially. "What'd you show? The Star Wars Christmas Special?"

Ivan's smile dropped. "You do not speak of that. It never happened."

"Dude, you said the same about Greedo shooting first, but—"

"Only original counts as canon." Ivan almost seemed genuinely angry. But it was the sort of anger Alfred could fully comprehend. Not that he was as much of a sci-fi fanatic as Ivan.

But he collected comic books. It was the same sort of devotion. And full of the same heartaches and disappointing adaptations and reboots.

"Anyway, I heard Patrick Stewart's decadent inflection. Won't your fellow Trekkies disown you if they know you're a Star Wars nut?"

"Trekkers. And I have no one to impress."

Considering the man was pushing 6'3", spoke four languages (five if you included Klingon, which Ivan did), and held a doctorate in biology, Alfred could see how Ivan cared little for the opinions of others.

"I'll say," Alfred said. "considering you prefer TNG over the original series."

"I will give you that Spock was a dynamic character. But Kirk was an inferior captain in every conceivable way."

"Really? I don't see anyone rushing to make a reboot with Picard at the helm."

"Next Gen doesn't need a flashy, brainless film like the 2009 flash in the pan. It is timeless."

"Plus, the TNG movies all prove that Picard is just not terribly cinematic. Generations? More like…uh…more like…" Alfred fumbled, finally muttering, "More like a piece of crap or something."

Ivan laughed. "Oh, you mean the "piece of crap" where Kirk died heroically under a bridge?"

"Man, whatever. I know you're being sarcastic, but it _was_ heroic!"

"Speaking of, who are you to judge a science fiction series when you openly enjoy superhero movies?"

Alfred bristled. "hey man, if you didn't like Avengers, you're wrong."

"And how was that Green Lantern movie again?"

Alfred scowled. "You know what, dude? I'm taking your scarf back."

Ivan stepped back, hands up protectively to keep Alfred from snatching his Doctor Who scarf away. "Not very Christmas spirited to take back a gift. Especially when I see your shield on the wall."

Alfred had squealed rather girlishly upon opening the decorative Captain America shield that morning. Granted, ivan had reacted similarly to the scarf.

"Alright, alright. Merry Christmas, ya Russki."

As he spoke, the door creaked open once more. Alfred tried to keep the obvious delight off his face as matthew entered the room. Apparently he didn't do too good a job.

Ivan smirked. "I will see you at faculty party. Try to avoid luring the librarian under too many boughs of mistletoe." Before Alfred could properly protest, Ivan left, greeting Matthew politely on the way out."

"Yeah, see ya, Ivan," Matt said distractedly. He stopped at Alfred's desk, expression positively radiating vile and anger. "Have I mentioned lately that Bill is a loon? Because Bill is a fucking loon."

It was probably a good thing that Matthew was so blindly enraged towards the principal. Otherwise he may have detected Alfred's obvious glee over his presence.

"What did he do this time?"

"So apparently "fun" is now mandatory. Oh, Gee, Mr. Winkle, thank you so, sooo much. There's absolutely nothing I'd rather do on a Friday night than spend time with my fellow coworkers, making small talk and eating stale store-bought cookies." Matt turned off his sarcasm at the look of confusion on Alfred's face. "The Christmas party is now mandatory."

"Oh." Alfred tilted his head. "I was gonna go anyway. Weren't you?"

"Yeah, uh, no. I could live without seeing Kirkland drunkenly hump half the male staff's legs and Francis streaking down the street, only to end up bitching about how cold it is and how he needs someone to warm him up. And Maggie…oh, that cunt, if that bitch doesn't stop spamming me with cats…"

"Aw, I think her emails are cute."

Given the murderous look Matthew shot him, maybe that wasn't the wisest thing to say.

Surprisingly, though, his rage seemed to dissipate. "But you'll definitely be there, right?"

"Yeah, of course!" Alfred flicked a strand of hair from his face. "I've been looking forward to this all month."

"Aw! Poor guy, you have no idea how disappointed you're about to be. And this is only your first year of many letdowns, too."

"Hey, isn't this only your third year?" Alfred grinned. "Seems a bit early to be so cynical, don't you think?"

"It's never too early to be a realist. C'mon, you're a mathematician. It's all in the statistics."

Alfred almost blurted out in that moment that he found Matthew adorable beyond belief. That it was endearing how he'd chosen Alfred as the one he trusted enough to speak openly and honestly with (even if that was in the form of rants). That he eagerly read each of his emails three times before replying.

But it was creepy for a grown man to say such things to another grown man. And it was unacceptable enough for adults to collect and dust jacket comic books; doing the same (metaphorically) with another person's words and mannerisms probably ventured into the realm of insanity.

Besides, it had nothing to do with the subject.

"Anyway," Matthew hugged a book to his chest—Alfred hadn't even noticed he was holding it. Strange, since he'd been the one to give it to him. "Blake's my favorite Romantic poet. And I just wanted to thank you again. How'd you know?"

Matthew had mentioned the poet before. Gushed about his meter, his sometimes angry passion in each meticulously chosen word, how he'd written his thesis entirely on analyzing his standards and themes in comparison to the 1950s beat poets (Alfred had almost gone with Howl instead, but he'd seen Matthew's comfortably worn copy and changed his mind).

It seemed odd to Alfred that Matthew wouldn't realize he'd brought it up. But then, Alfred shared things about himself that he didn't realize others picked up.

"Lucky guess," Alfred said.

"But I feel like such a jerk! All I got you was a gift card."

"And a coffee mug!" Alfred said, holding up the Batman thermos. "Besides, it's my favorite comic place. Thanks, Mattie."

"Oh, whatever. You got me something meaningful and wonderful—"

"It's a used book."

"Alfred, it's a first edition and I adore it!" Matthew hugged the book closer to his chest. "I'll have to make you dinner or something sometime, to make it up to you."

Alfred laughed shakily, face growing red. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that's a…a…"

"Date?" Matthew supplied. He smiled. "I mean, call it whatever you want. But I was a culinary arts minor in school, believe it or not, so I'm lead to believe I know my way around a kitchen."

"Um, uh, yeah! Yeah, okay, yeah! That sounds—yeah, that sounds—"

Matthew laughed. The sort of laugh that forced him to close his eyes, cheeks dimpling. "I hope your articulate speech indicates your delight."

How could he sound so fancy now, when only a few minutes earlier he was using the C-word to describe the elderly secretary? "Yeah! Uh, I mean, yes."

"Okay, good!"

"Maybe, um," Alfred wasn't shy by any stretch of the word. But this was more than he'd ever hoped for. "Maybe we could…"

"Yes?"

"Uh, ride up to the party together? Since I know it's at the Bill's place, and you know where it is and I don't, and to save gas."

Wait, that made it sound like he only wanted to go with him for economical and convenience reasons. "I mean, also because I wanna go with you!"

The words strung across the room like archaic blue Christmas lights. And if one fuse was blown, the entire line would remain dull.

Luckily, Matthew's face glowed, eyes widening. "Oh! Yeah, that'll make the party infinitely less crappy." Alfred searched for any signs of sarcasm and couldn't find any.

"But it still won't keep Kirkland from, uh, humping," Alfred said—and felt dirty for even remembering Matthew mentioning that, let alone bringing it up himself.

"Well…I may have exaggerated the humping."


End file.
